


Tourin

by stifledlaughter



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Culture exchange, Drunken Shenanigans, Gen, M/M, Nicaise Lives, veretian traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stifledlaughter/pseuds/stifledlaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I didn’t think they would actually do it,” remarked Laurent coolly as Makedon spilled onto the bed, hoisting a pottery jug of griva in the air and shouting “TO THE NEWLYWEDS!” as the inebriated soldiers and servants took to the floor. <br/>Damen turned to him in horror, his mouth agape. “You knew this could happen? What’s going on?” </p>
<p>--------</p>
<p>Damen is the surprised recipient of some culture exchange, much to Laurent's amusement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tourin

**Author's Note:**

> So I live in Bordeaux, in southern France, and learned of a fantastic Bordelaise wedding tradition of "tourin" that has been in practice at least up until 30 years ago, where friends and family of the newlyweds crash in on them in the middle of the night with soup to catch them in the act and give them strength after a long, drunken day. The story I heard from a mixed French/American couple was that instead of soup, they were interrupted with bottles of champagne, but the general sentiment of the "tourin" was there. (I can only find French-language sources, but the French wikipedia, if you Google Translate it, can give you the basic gist of it if you don't speak French.) The American in the couple told me that she had no idea it was coming, and it gave me the idea for this.   
> Thanks to cannedebonbon for suggesting Nicaise as the instigator! (Of course Nicaise lives. Ahem. Yes.)

 

The smooth, luxurious sheets whispered against the limbs of the kings intertwined, their breathing labored, eyes locked. Hands slid over lips, throats, chests, down further, skimming taut stomach muscles. Caught up in their own world of murmured words and sharp gasps, nothing could break them from this moment-

Aside from the slamming of the door, a lively shout in Akielon of “It’s time for the _tourin_! Open up, my King!”, and the sound of a lock being swiftly dealt with. If it weren’t for the familiar voice, and the booming cheerfulness of the shout, Damen would have sworn they were under attack.

“Who- Makedon? What-?” But before Damen could splutter out any words, or pull up the sheet over himself and his husband, the door burst open to the sight of no less than a half dozen soldiers and guards, a handful of Veretian servants, a drunken and enthusiastic Makedon, and behind them all, a grinning Nicaise.

“I didn’t think they would actually do it,” remarked Laurent coolly as Makedon spilled onto the bed, hoisting a pottery jug of griva in the air and shouting “TO THE NEWLYWEDS!” as the inebriated soldiers and servants took to the floor. Behind him, Nicaise, his smirk glowing brighter than any oil lamp in the room, held a sturdy earthenware bowl containing a hot fragrant soup with slivers of onions floating to the surface. A linen bag, clinking as he walked, was slung over his shoulder.

Damen turned to him in horror, his mouth agape. “You knew this could happen? What’s going on?”

Laurent shifted as several drunken soldiers and a handful of servants climbed onto the bed, their spirits spurred on by liquid courage. The pink in his cheeks was fading, the exertions of mere seconds past forgotten as Nicaise put the large bowl down on a table and began dispensing it into smaller bowls that he took out of a bag on his shoulder.

“Southern Veretian tradition dictates that the night of a wedding, during the… _intimate_ hours of the newlywed’s time together, it is important for the friends and family of the couple to supply them with soup to fortify them after their long day. This is called the _tourin_ , named after the soup that Nicaise has there.”

Makedon clapped Damen on the back, hoarsely shouting, “’Tis a glorious tradition! Young Nicaise here was quite kind to let me know about it!”

“Yes,” said Laurent, turning to the man in question, who was now distributing the bowls to the guards and servants clustered on the floor and chairs of the chambers and on the bed. “How kind of him to convince you all to participate.”

“You knew this would happen,” said Damen, watching his husband glance over the Akielon and Veretian soldiers clacking their bowls together and drinking the soup with merriment shining from their inebriated eyes. “You knew there was no way that Nicaise would let this tradition pass by unnoticed.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure if the Akielon men would get drunk enough to invade their King’s quarters, but it seems that in deference to their King’s recently adopted culture, they have shown great respect for Veretian tradition,” noted Laurent nonchalantly as Makedon tumbled off of the bed and still managed to keep his griva pitcher held high and steady. “I consider it an honor that they are taking so quickly to a foreign, formerly hostile culture.”

“I don’t suppose Nicaise informed the guards ahead of time to let them in?” asked Damen.

“I have no doubt. They aren’t here to attack us, but share in this tradition that the guards of course know of, and likely have participated in on their own time,” replied Laurent in the same mild tone that he had kept during this entire incident.

Bunching up more of the sheets and furs over himself, Damen surveyed the room. He was weary, slightly irritated due to the interruption, but also mollified by the sight of Veretian and Akielon citizens getting along, passing soup around and sharing Makedon’s griva jug; he had managed to stand once again. Damen felt a sudden rush of warmth and joy, surprising himself.

“Nicaise, you’re going to bring that over to us here, aren’t you? Otherwise there will be no soup left to fortify us!” he called out, which prompted Nicaise to flicker his eyes up at Laurent and smile wickedly as he poured the two kings bowls of soup.

“These are our people, and our kingdom, and now, this is one of my traditions,” murmured Damen in amazement as Nicaise brought over the bowls. After all that had happened between their countries, and the tireless struggle to reach this moment, he felt swept up in the sense of camaraderie and cheer filling the room. “But do tell me, Laurent…”

“Yes?”

“They aren’t going to _stay_ after we’re fortified, are they?”


End file.
